Which Rabbit, Indeed?
by hippiewitch77
Summary: An AU tale about what might have happened had things gone differently at the end of manga Chapter 60.  Grell/Undertaker. Hooray for yaoi!  Rated M for later chapters.
1. The Rabbit, Ensnared

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Yana Toboso. I just play with them.

Author's note: This is what one might call an AU story, playing with what might have happened after Chapter 60 of the manga.

Grell couldn't believe his luck. Out of the corner of his left eye, he saw Ronald swing his mower in Sebastian's path, forcing the butler to leap high into the air, giving him the precious few seconds he needed to reach the Undertaker. The rogue shinigami just stood there, smiling that maddening grin of his, as Grell closed in. He would reach him first!

However, Grell had not anticipated the Undertaker's next move. A black-taloned hand reached back, and a shimmering pulse of light glowed behind him. Before Grell could counteract the move, the Undertaker's other hand grabbed the fluttering red tails of his coat, and pulled. The accompanying flash of light disoriented the reaper as he felt himself being yanked forward, and suddenly his surroundings shifted.

They were no longer aboard the sinking luxury liner, surrounded by the walking dead, the demon butler, and Grell's comrade. Darkness enveloped him for several seconds until his senses finally adjusted. The expansive ballroom had disappeared, and Grell found himself instead enclosed in a dank, dusty office littered with coffins, urns, and grotesque instruments of a mortician's fare. He was in the Undertaker's shop.

A piercingly high-pitched giggle rang out as Grell landed on his knees; his death scythe grinding vainly into the hardwood floors of the timeworn little building. The Undertaker plopped down on the lid of a mahogany coffin, his black hat clutched to his chest as he doubled over in peals of laughter. Grell gritted his shark-like teeth and glared up at him.

"Can you imagine the looks on their faces after we disappeared through my portal? I almost regret having missed seeing them, especially that uptight butler's!" the Undertaker gasped in between guffaws.

Grell quickly found his feet and pulled his squealing scythe from the floor. Within seconds, he had the Undertaker by his throat.

"And just what the hell do you find so funny about that? Sebas-chan and poor Ronald are still out there! I should paint you red right here and now!"

Wasting no time, the Undertaker produced a sotoba, shielding himself should Grell follow through with his threat. All the while, he smiled.

"Come now, Grell Sutcliff. You know very well that your beloved butler is a demon, and would never risk putting the Earl in serious danger. If he had been truly worried, they would have been long gone hours ago. I'm quite certain that beast has his own escape plan. As for your other friend, well, he is like us. I trust he knows how to make his own portal in case of emergencies. Now be a good girl and put that thing away. I merely wish to speak with you, as one outlaw to another."

Grell paused, allowing the elder shinigami's words to sink in for a moment, then blurted, "You cut my face!"

The Undertaker sighed, "Yes, and I would like to offer my apologies. If you would allow me, I could try to fix it before anything permanent sets in. It would be a pity to allow a beautiful face such as yours to have a nasty scar."

"You're one to talk," Grell muttered, relaxing his grip and switching off his scythe before it dematerialized.

The Undertaker replied cheerfully, "That's better. Now, have a seat, and let's see what we can do."

"Alright, but only because I can't bear to have any more people see me like this!"

The Undertaker asked, "So you aren't going to leave on me, then?"

Grell spat, "The only way I'm leaving here is with you bound and gagged!"

"Ooh. I hope that's a promise," the Undertaker snickered.

Grell, never removing his eyes from the Undertaker, sat on the coffin and pondered his next move. He still didn't trust the mortician, but he was curious. Why did the Undertaker bring him along, when he could have just as easily escaped the Campania on his own? Besides, if he could indeed fix that cut, well, what harm would it be to humor his depravity for a little while?

The Undertaker fussed behind the main counter of his shop, opening and closing drawers while humming a haunting but childish tune. He at last produced a tray containing a bowl of water, a rag, a pair of scissors, a spool of black thread, and a small but menacing needle.

Grell barely had time to shudder at what the tools represented before the Undertaker was right in front of him with the rag. He brushed the red locks back from Grell's forehead and began wiping, ever so gently, at the blood stains that streaked down the reaper's face.

The Undertaker said, "You may want to remove your glasses. It looks like the biggest cut is right above your eye. That coat needs to go as well. If you haven't noticed, it is covered in gore."

Obediently, but with no less observance, Grell lifted the glasses from his ears and let them dangle at his chest. He had rarely needed to make use of the true function of his skull encrusted eyeglass chains, but now seemed as good a time as any. He wormed his way out of the scarlet coat and set it beside him. The Undertaker took the discarded heap of red cloth and hung it on a hook near the front door. He plucked a small brown bottle from a shelf behind his counter before offering it to Grell.

"What is that?" Grell asked warily.

"Only laudanum. It will dull the pain a bit."

Grell replied, "How do I know that you aren't trying to poison me? You drink first!"

The Undertaker shrugged, pulled the cork from the bottle, and swallowed. His smile grew even larger as he dangled the bottle in front of Grell's nose. Satisfied for the moment, Grell took it and brought it to his lips. The liquid burned as it ran down his throat, but the cloud that quickly covered his immediate senses was more than welcome. He tried to return the bottle to the Undertaker, but the elder shinigami shook his head.

"Hold onto that, in case you need more. Use some caution, however. I'm not certain what harm it could do to the likes of us, but I have lost count of the number of guests I've had to accommodate due to an overdose."

Returning to his seat beside Grell, the Undertaker lightly touched the area around the cut, drawing close to inspect it. He sucked in a bit of air with what sounded like sympathy, and commented, "Oh no! There are still a few shards of glass in there. Let me get rid of those for you."

Grell took another small sip of laudanum as the elder shinigami picked at the sliced flesh with his claw-like fingernails, drawing out what bits of shattered glass he could find. Grell couldn't help but marvel. This man was most definitely both crazy and dangerous, but when was the last time anyone had touched him with such gentleness? Not even Madam Red, on that handful of occasions when she'd drank too much wine and had insisted that Grell go above and beyond the normal duties of a butler, had been so careful. No, she had liked it rough, and he had been both amused and curious enough to oblige. But the Undertaker. . .his true agenda could be almost anything.

"Well, I am afraid that you will need a few stitches, my dear," the Undertaker breathed hotly into Grell's ear, causing a surprising shiver to rattle up his spine.

Grell swallowed, and with a hoarse voice, whispered, "Fine. But only if you tell me exactly how you edited the Cinematic Records of those abominations!"

The Undertaker let loose with his jarring, enigmatic laugh and replied, "All in good time, sweet lady. All in good time."

Grell crossed his arms and rolled his eyes in a huff. He had known that this encounter wouldn't be easy, but he was torn. He could attack the scoundrel right now, sacrifice his own beauty, and maintain his flimsy status within the shinigami rank and file, or, he could allow this gorgeous specimen to continue to work at his infirmity, flatter his countenance, and let out just enough rope to hang himself with. Besides, when the Undertaker properly addressed Grell as a lady, he didn't use a hint of sarcasm. That alone was enough to humor him.

Being a creature of impulse, Grell chose the latter option. He had noticed that the laudanum had begun to take hold, and his head was swimming too briskly for a real battle. He decided to bring out another weapon he held dear.

"Just be gentle. That's all I ask," Grell requested seductively.

The Undertaker paused, then broke into a fit of giggles.

"Oh, I'll be as gentle as I possibly can, my dear. You'll hardly feel a thing when I stick this into you."

Grell coughed uncomfortably. He wasn't used to people playing along with his flirtations. He smiled, anyway, and fluttered his eyelashes. He held his breath as the Undertaker leaned in closely, inspecting the cut. Of course he would have to get this intimate. Every shinigami was nearsighted, and as the Undertaker didn't wear glasses, his handicap would be more pronounced.

The Undertaker held the needle's tip inside the flame of his candle, and continued, "However, now that I have you here, there are some things that I'm just dying to know."

Grell stiffened at those words, having heard them enough from his fellow reapers. The questions had been the vulgar and intrusive inquiries of adolescents, and Grell had felt no obligation to answer them. Those brats were always asking snide questions about the hair, the makeup, the heels on his shoes, and his preference for his own sex.

"Just how old are you, Grell Sutcliff?" the Undertaker asked, as he lightly pierced Grell's skin with his needle.

Grell gasped and haughtily replied, "It is impolite to ask a lady about her age!"

The Undertaker chuckled, "Hold still! Keep in mind that I'm accustomed to my clients not moving when I operate. Be that as it may, I apologize for my social discrepancy. But, if I were to guess, I would place you at around a century?"

"Give or take a year," Grell answered reluctantly, keeping his good eye on the silver-haired shinigami in front of him.

The Undertaker replied, "Hee hee. That's what I thought. When I was your age, London was a stinking, muddy, overgrown hamlet crawling with Roman Soldiers. This was nearly a thousand years ago, and you know what? Humans haven't changed that much. Even then, they had but a few things on their minds. All they wanted was something to eat, a place to sleep, and a warm body to fuck."

"Oh, I am well aware of how boring and predictable humans can be, you vulgar creature! You still haven't said enough to pardon yourself," Grell uttered.

The Undertaker had allowed his bangs to fall in front of his eyes as he sewed at Grell's wound. Without thinking, Grell reached up and brushed a bit of the silvery hair behind the pierced ear of its owner. The Undertaker noticed, and winked a glowing eye at his patient.

"Please tell me," the Undertaker said, as he eyed the wound on Grell's face," why you feel the need to judge my actions so harshly. Did my Dolls bother you, needlessly?"

Grell struggled for a moment against the somewhat unwelcome thrill of the Undertaker's sweet touch, but replied, "Well, not really, I suppose, except for their grotesqueness! How can you not see the crime you have committed by reanimating the corpses of those properly deceased? You violated their records! It goes against the very nature of what we stand for! And seriously, horses? I can't even begin to imagine how you pulled that off!"

The Undertaker never dropped his smile as he picked up one more stitch.

"Hee hee. I wonder, Grell Sutcliff, what those poor girls in Whitechapel would have to say about your sudden fit of compassion?"

Grell choked, before blurting angrily, "We are not talking about my discrepancies here! Besides, who told you that I had anything to do with that 'Jack the Ripper' nonsense? Did Sebas-chan and his brat come running their mouths?"

"Hmm. Normally that sort of information would cost you up front, but as you are indisposed at the moment, I will put it on your tab. To answer your question, no one told me anything. I figured it out myself using deductive reasoning. For starters, I had you pegged as a reaper that day you walked in here with the Earl and his entourage. I said nothing, mind you, as I found your disguise quite well done and highly amusing. I even had my suspicions about your involvement then, seeing as you were in the company of a doctor who would have been more than capable of such handiwork. With Madame Red's death, the killings stopped, and you disappeared. It did not take much for me to put two and two together, my dear. Especially after seeing that she had been killed by a death scythe! Dare I even ask what brought that on?"

Grell scowled and narrowed his eyes. His silence was all the reply he would give on that subject.

The Undertaker merely raised an eyebrow and picked another sliver of glass that he had missed from Grell's cut. He startled when Grell grasped and grabbed his sleeve.

"Is something the matter, love? I know this has to sting, but I'm almost finished."

"Please! I need to know something else!" Grell pleaded, his voice quivering with anxiety.

"Another question? My goodness, but you are racking up quite a bit of debt, aren't you? Very well, what is it?" the Undertaker replied cheerfully.

Grell took a deep breath and begged, "Just please, for the love of whatever the hell you might hold sacred, tell me you didn't turn her into one of those things!"

The Undertaker tilted his head, and gazed at Grell sympathetically. He patted the top of his head, running his fingers back through the thick, red strands before softly rubbing his shoulder.

"Though she would have made a magnificent Doll, you have my word that I did not wake Madame Red's body from its rest."

Grell smiled in relief, and closed his eyes to concentrate on the hand at his shoulder. With every gentle touch of the Undertaker's fingers, Grell could feel his resolve against the mortician weakening. These light, friendly caresses were much better than the brute force of William's fists, and even wishing that Sebas-chan would handle him in any way besides violently was beyond reason.

The Undertaker resumed his work, brushing Grell's hair back once more as he plied his needle to the last inch of sliced skin. Grell said nothing, but watched the shinigami's hands with interest as they sewed gracefully. He reached out and grabbed the singular braid in the Undertaker's hair, and wrapped it around his gloved finger, admiring how the silver strands contrasted against his dark leather. These actions did not go unnoticed by the smiling mortician.

"I think that you and I are very much alike, Grell. From the moment I saw you, I thought, 'Now there is another reaper who is fed up with all of those infernal rules and regulations. That one longs for freedom.' I can't imagine that your wardrobe is a favorite amongst the higher-ups. They always gave me grief over my hair and earrings. I despise conformity, don't you?"

Grell smiled again and said, "You have no idea. I've been at this for a hundred years, and I've been demoted so many times I may as well be a rookie! William Spears is my direct superior, and we were in training together. I even had better grades than he did! The only reason he hasn't fired me outright is because I am so good at my job. I hate more days and nights than I don't, to be honest. If he hadn't caught me after the whole Ripper scandal, I may very well have gone rogue like you!"

The Undertaker giggled, "Oh, really? Well, there is still time, you know. There is much I could teach you. You merely need to say the word!"

With that, the Undertaker made a final stitch, tied it off, and cut the thread with his tiny silver scissors. Grell let out a squeak when he felt the Undertaker's lips on the now sewed-up cut, kissing it for good measure.

"There. I promise, it doesn't look bad at all. Your hair covers up most of it, and you should heal in no time. You won't be an ugly old bag of scars like me, at any rate," the Undertaker laughed.

"You're not ugly," Grell blurted, then added almost too quickly, "that is, er, your scars give you character!"

The Undertaker's lip curled slyly, as he returned the tools he had used to a drawer behind his counter. Grell gazed at him, all the while fighting an internal battle with his own conscience. He got to his feet, crossed his arms, and began pacing with aggravation. The Undertaker seemingly ignored him, and began removing his cloak. Grell bit his lip as the disrobing revealed a long black cossack covering what appeared to be a white silk shirt. He unbuttoned the cossack as well, and hung them both on the hook next to Grell's blood-smeared red coat. With that, he turned, and approached Grell, his smile still more particularly roguish than his usual maniacal grin.

Grell eyed him up and down, from his glimmering green eyes to the heavily buckled boots still laced up his legs. The sight made his lower abdomen twitch involuntarily, but he did not resist when the Undertaker took his gloved hands and squeezed.

"Let's get down to business then, shall we?" the mortician offered with a convincing sense of earnestness.


	2. The Rabbit, Enchanted

"Honestly, the only business I should have with you is beating your secret out of you and taking you back to the Shinigami Library to answer for your crimes," Grell mumbled dejectedly, unable to draw the fire of the anger he had earlier in the evening.

The Undertaker sighed heavily, and shook his head. He released Grell's hands and walked to a shelf, grabbing a candle and sticking it into a tarnished brass holder. Before lighting it from an already burning lamp, he fished through the pockets of his hanging cloak and produced a large ring jingling with keys.

"I have a proposition for you, Grell. Come downstairs with me, and let me show you some of my secrets. If, by the time we return here, you still feel the need to turn me in to your superiors, I will go with you willingly."

Grell rolled his eyes and uttered, "Oh, alright! But this had better be worth all the trouble you are putting me through."

"I don't think you'll be disappointed," the Undertaker replied gleefully.

Grell followed him cautiously as they walked to a dark wall at the back of the shop. The Undertaker selected a key from his ring and unlocked a door that Grell had not noticed before. It creaked open to reveal a long, rickety staircase. The Undertaker stood in the doorway and beckoned for Grell to continue with him.

"Watch your step. These stairs are fairly steep, and older than you," he said.

Keeping close behind the Undertaker, Grell felt a chill as they descended into the basement. The room they arrived in was too dark to see very well, and as the Undertaker waved his candle around, Grell felt grateful. The brick walls were lined with shelf after shelf, each filled what must easily have been hundreds of jars. What the jars contained were anyone's guess, but Grell was certain that he spied a few previously internal organs floating in the flickering light. He instinctively clutched at the Undertaker's arm, knowing full well that he was the one responsible for the macabre sight.

The Undertaker giggled, "There is no need to fear, sweet child. They won't bite. Besides, I doubt that there is much in my collection that you haven't seen before. You are familiar with the removal of vitals, after all."

"Yes, but we didn't keep them! Well, on second thought, I'm not sure what Madam Red did with those nasty things, and I never cared enough to ask. If she put them on display somewhere, it is news to me!"

Even so, Grell kept his grip on the ex-shinigami's arm as he was lead across the large room. The Undertaker lit a few more candles along the way, and Grell found himself stepping around piles of wooden boards and stacks of velvet and satin. He stopped, pulled off a glove, and grazed his bare hand over a particularly deep red bolt of velvet.

"Ah, you like that, do you? As you can see, this is where I store my coffin-making materials. I am particularly fond of the velvets, myself. So much more warm and inviting than slippery, cold satin. Not that my guests usually mind either way, hee hee. My dolls never complain about their sleeping arrangements, either. It's rather nice, actually."

Grell shivered at the implication, and mentally slapped himself. Why did the creepy bastard have to be so damned charming? Even when he was talking about his horrid experiments, he was smiling, and his unmasked eyes glowed like two fireflies. Perhaps it was sheer insanity making them shine so brightly; perhaps that was just what happened when a shinigami reached the age of what one might call 'ancient.' To distract himself, Grell yanked the watch from his pocket and glared at its face.

That ridiculous laugh echoed through the basement tunnels, "Too late, my dearie, too late. The ship is already midway through its final farewell. Your bright-eyed student, that incorrigible demon that you are so fond of, and his poor little slave-driving master are certainly quite beyond your reach now. You might as well just follow me to your own fate. I, myself, am curious as to how this all might play out."

The little annoying part of Grell's conscience told him that he should have been whipping out his scythe and doing his best to pin this unhinged freak to the wall. However, the weight of his situation, emotional exhaustion, and utter frustration chose that moment to hit him like a fist. It was too much. He burst into tears, wailing loudly enough to stop the Undertaker in his tracks.

With an uncharacteristic frown, he said, "Now, now, don't get so upset! It simply breaks my heart to see a lady cry!"

The Undertaker wrapped his arms around Grell and pulled him into a tight embrace. Grell started to lift his hands to push him away, but found he lacked the willpower to fight back. Instead, his own limbs encircled the mortician's waist, and he allowed the beast to caress his back consolingly, while he buried his face in the mane of silver hair drifting over his shoulder. Why was this horrible man so hard to resist? Was Grell so starved for affection that even the slightest bit of kindness would conquer him? While the tears continued to flow, he suddenly recalled a lesson from his training so long ago. His instructor had mentioned a famously talented shinigami whose power was so entrancing, the dying would seek him out, and beg him to take their souls. He could not help but wonder now if he was being comforted by the very same reaper.

Leaning into Grell's ear, the Undertaker whispered softly, "Come along with me. I have a place for you to rest, and something to show you that might amuse you. It's just beyond the door in the far wall."

Grell choked back his sobs and leaned on the Undertaker as they continued to the back of the dingy room. Fishing yet another key from his giant ring, the mortician unlocked a heavy oaken door and pushed it open. He ushered Grell inside, and locked it behind them.

"Welcome to my sanctuary. You should be pleased to know that you are the first being besides me that has ever set foot in here. It is my home away from the morgue."

Leading him to an overstuffed but comfortable chair, the Undertaker finally let go of Grell and bade him to sit. As he proceeded to light several candelabras around the small space, Grell's eyes widened.

The décor was decidedly less morbid than what he had come to expect from the Undertaker, aside from the oversized coffin pushed against the wall. One small desk was littered with papers, notebooks, and various anatomical drawings. Several bookshelves adorned the walls, each draped in purple velvet and packed with books on subjects ranging everywhere from medieval history to American politics. The floor was covered with an elaborately detailed oriental rug; the kind that might be seen in one of Lau's opium dens. The table to Grell's right drew his attention almost immediately.

Like the shelves, it was topped by velvet, though black instead. Various trinkets and mementos ornamented it, including a crystal vase filled with dried roses, a lock of golden hair, a laughing Buddha statue, and a printed poem in a silver frame. In the middle sat a familiar purple book. Grell gasped.

"Is that . . . it is! It's a bound record!"

The Undertaker kept smiling as he sat on the big coffin's lid and began to unbuckle his boots. He let Grell stew in surprise as he pulled off each, before unrolling the dark stockings and casting them aside. He crossed one thin leg over the other and ran his spidery fingers through his hair.

"How very observant of you, my dear. Yes, that is a bound record. A very special one, at that! I'm feeling particularly generous tonight. Why don't you take another sip from your bottle to calm your nerves, and I'll tell you all about it."

Not having to be told twice, Grell poured a few drops of liquid onto his tongue and waited. His conscience told him that he should still be fighting, but since when had he ever listened to that annoying voice? It sounded like William, for heaven's sake! No, his curiosity held sway, as usual, and he watched the handsome shinigami as he tiptoed across the rug and fingered the golden curls on the table.

The Undertaker began, "I was once enamored of a mortal woman. It really wasn't that long ago, considering my age, but fate is a funny mistress. She was brilliant, beautiful, and so talented. She wrote a book when she was quite young that proved to be quite an inspiration to me and my work. It was intended as a work of fiction, but she had inadvertently stumbled upon great truths in her fancy. My infatuation was silly; I know this now, but at the time, she invaded my every thought, every dream! I admired this woman from afar, as I had no idea how to approach her. There was one occasion, when her father passed, where I was able to properly converse with her. She was polite, charming, and even more quick-witted than I pride myself to be. We talked about many things, and agreed to meet on a happier occasion to speak further. We did, and had many riveting conversations, but that was about it. Once I realized that she had eyes for no one but her dead husband, I gave up hope of even attempting anything beyond a casual acquaintance. I settled back into my work, trying to forget and before I knew it . . . well, mortal lives pass so quickly, don't they?"

Grell listened with fascination, his bright green eyes transfixed to the elder shinigami as he held the lock of hair to his lips. He had grown quite tipsy on the amount of laudanum he had consumed, only stared at his captor before asking, "What happened to her?"

The Undertaker returned the hair to its resting place and brushed his fingers over the top and spine of the book lovingly, before grasping it with his hand and hugging it to his chest. His familiar, overt smile attempted to return, but it didn't grow as broad as it normally did. He tapped his fingers on the back cover as if it were a drum.

"She died," he said sadly, then handed the book to Grell.

Grell could feel the Undertaker watching him as he opened the book to its frontispiece. He gasped at what he saw.

_Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin Shelley_

_Date of Birth: 30 August 1797_

_Date of Death: 1 February 1851_

_Cause of Death: Tumor of the brain_

_Dispatched by Grell Sutcliff_

Grell stuttered, "My gods, she was one of mine! And you've held onto this for forty years? I . . . wish I could remember. For what's it worth, I am sorry."

Now Grell knew he was drunk. The closest things he ever made to apologies were the insincere shows of remorse he liked to put on for William's benefit. He glanced away in embarrassment, and chewed lightly on his lower lip. Why did he even care? He had reaped hundreds, if not thousands of souls in his lifetime; why should this one be any different? And why the hell was he trying to comfort the Undertaker? As if this night weren't strange enough!

"Think nothing of it, Grell. You were only doing your job, and had I been in your shoes, I would probably have done the same. From what her son told me, she had been incredibly ill for a long time, and was waiting for death to release her. He said that she had joined his father and siblings at last, and that she was finally at peace. The poor man was quite distraught, but adamant about carrying out her final wishes. She had requested my services when her time came, and had made a rather odd request that she knew I would honor. You see, she had kept her husband's heart, which someone had rescued from his funeral pyre, and wanted to be buried with it. I obliged, of course. He had been dead for almost thirty years, and it was little more than overly-dried meat at that point, but I placed it in her coffin just the same. I also clipped a lock of her hair. And, before you ask, yes, it is that very lock of hair lying on her altar. Her son, Sir Percy, wanted her to be buried in Bournemouth, where he had just purchased a manor house, so that she would be close by. I drove the funeral coach myself, all the way to Dorset, and dug her grave in Christchurch Cemetery. It was the least I could do. Not long after, Sir Percy and his wife called upon me again, because they wanted to transplant the remains of Mary's parents to her crypt. It was all rather unorthodox, but the area where they were buried had fallen into ill repute and they wanted to have them all in the same plot. I admired their devotion, as foreign to me as many human customs, and agreed to assist them. I distinctly recall sitting in the driver's seat of the carriage containing those coffins, with rain pouring down, as Percy argued with the groundskeeper to let us pass. We were eventually let through, and I dutifully stacked those caskets on top of hers. Such a fascinating family! And to think that you of all people were a part of the story as well. It's too strange to be a coincidence."

Grell was enjoying the tale, becoming more entranced with the Undertaker's strange, lilting voice. He said nothing as the Undertaker sat down at his feet and leaned back against his weary legs. Grell grasped at his last straw to keep the conversation going, as he was entirely unsure of what might happen next. If he had had any warning about what this day and night was going to throw into his lap, he would never have gotten out of bed!

He pretended to ignore as the Undertaker's hands caressed his calves, and picked up the framed piece of poetry. It had obviously been cut from a book, and the printed page read:

_A DIRGE_

_By the Author of Frankenstein_

_1831_

_This mourn my gallant bark, love_

_Sail'd on the sunny sea;_

'_Tis noon, and tempests dark, love_

_Have wreck'd it on the lee._

_Ah, woe! Ah, woe! Ah, woe! _

_By spirits of the deep_

_He's cradled on the billow,_

_To his unwaking sleep._

_Thou liest upon the shore, love_

_Beside the swelling surge;_

_But sea-nymphs ever more, love_

_Shall sadly chant thy dirge._

_O Come! O Come! O Come!_

_Ye spirits of the deep!_

_While near his sea-weed pillow,_

_My lonely watch I keep._

_Far from across the sea, love,_

_I hear a wild lament,_

_By Echo's voice for thee, love,_

_From Ocean's caverns sent:-_

_O List! O List! O List!_

_The spirits of the deep—_

_Loud sounds their wail of sorrow,_

_While I forever weep_

"She wrote that one," the Undertaker said before Grell could comment, "and I kept it here to remind me of how she was devoted to her husband, and that was how it should have been. You've probably read his poetry. He was quite accomplished, and I probably would be just as enamored of him as I was of her, had our situation been different."

Grell blindly replied, "Oh, you mean Percy Bysshe Shelley? Of course! I've always loved his work, believe it or not. He always had such an intriguing grasp on both the morbid and sublime. He died far away, though, didn't he? I don't recall any of my colleagues bragging about claiming his soul."

"He drowned off the coast of Italy in 1822, so I would imagine that the reapers of that jurisdiction caught him. But yes, you are correct. His talent was immense, and I cannot blame sweet Mary for clinging to him. I've tried my best to hold no particular grudges against him, mind you. I just wish that she had been able to let go. Alas, she did not, and the poem stands as a monument. It reminds me that she was never mine to begin with, and that it is folly for one like me to pine after someone like her. No one is at fault; fate just had other plans," the Undertaker explained.

With a nod, Grell shifted in his seat. He was still contemplating the story when he noticed that the Undertaker began paying close attention to his heeled shoes. When the mortician started to unlace the strings of his right boot, he cleared his throat.

The elder shinigami laughed, "Oh, I just thought that your feet must be very worn out by now. I know that mine are. Just sit there and relax. I swear, on the artifacts of that table, that I mean you no harm."

While Grell still had his lingering doubts, he allowed the Undertaker to pull the shoe from his right foot. His bony hands crept up his pant leg, and unhooked his stocking from the garter situated just above his knee. He tugged the stocking free of Grell's foot, then kissed his painted toes and rubbed them playfully. The mortician's careful touch sent unbidden shivers up to Grell's brain and back down to his lap, causing a certain organ to twitch. He had been afraid of this, but, at this point, he didn't care in the slightest. He had no idea if it was the laudanum, the Undertaker's strange, intoxicating power, or utter exhaustion at the whole ordeal that made him give in. Right now, it didn't matter. Grell even smiled when his captor's attention averted to his other foot, and he welcomed the ensuing pleasure.

"So, you aren't worried at all about your Bizarre Dolls or the repercussions from them?" Grell asked dreamily, feeling a million miles away from the predicament aboard the Campania.

The Undertaker continued to massage Grell's feet, until the red reaper leaned back on the chair, closing his eyes in contentment. Grell's breath hitched when he felt the scarred face of his elder rubbing up the length of his leg before settling on his lap. His trousers had already become uncomfortably tighter with each gentle touch he had received, and he felt his unfortunately and decidedly male member grow even more engorged when the beautiful, scarred face nuzzled against its bulge.

"No, not really. That fate has already been decided. Why not enjoy what we have right now? Besides, it appears that you have warmed up to me already. Hee hee." the Undertaker breathed, as his hand squeezed Grell's right thigh.

Grell could not suppress a small chuckle before he grabbed the Undertaker's bangs and drew his face up to meet his eyes. He was tired of the games, and ready for the evening to commence.

"I see. Well, in that case, I will offer you some advice. If you're trying so hard to get in there, the least you could do is kiss me first."

The Undertaker paused in his ministrations, and broke into a fit of giggles worse than any others he had offered the entire night. Grell felt his anger building, but before he could react, the Undertaker sprang up on his knees, grabbed his head, and fused his lips to Grell's scowling mouth. Once the elder shinigami's tongue snaked through and met Grell's, all apprehension was lost.

xxx

Lemony goodness is on the way!

In case anyone is interested, the poem ,"A Dirge," was printed in the 1831 edition of The Keepsake. If you would like more info, let me know! I have my own copy! (And yes, I suck at proper citation.)

Thank you so much for reading!


	3. The Rabbit, Enthralled

Grell's senses exploded as he felt the Undertaker move his lips over his mouth, and marveled at how sweet the mortician's tongue tasted as it made contact with his. He couldn't remember the last time he had been kissed in such a sensuous manner, if ever at all. Most people were afraid to devour him this way, as his teeth were so sharp and intimidating. Even Madam Red had refused to kiss him unless he was transformed into his human disguise, and any others had avoided his mouth in fear of being injured. Most of the time, if he asked to be kissed, he was answered with a fist to his jaw rather than the affection he so desperately craved. Not so with the Undertaker. His lips grabbed hold of Grell's tongue and drew it into his own mouth, licking and sucking at it hungrily as if his life depended on it for sustenance.

Grell instinctively wrapped his left leg around the Undertaker's waist and dragged him closer, thoroughly enjoying the warmth that the ex-shinigami's body emanated. He twisted his captor's silvery locks between the fingers of one hand and began releasing the buttons from his silk shirt with the other. Grell shivered at the vibrations of the Undertaker's silent laugh against his lips, and his anticipation grew as he felt the mortician loosen the striped bow at his throat. Once the ribbon was free and tossed aside, the Undertaker broke away from Grell's kiss and began nibbling along his jaw. Grell hugged him tighter when his mouth captured a sensitive earlobe and suckled at it. All the while, each reaper worked at divesting the other of clothing. After a great tangle of limbs and two or three fits of giggles, the Oriental rug was littered with shirts, a waistcoat, and a pair of leather gloves.

The Undertaker squeezed the stiffened bulge in Grell's pants and asked with a breathless smile, "Is this what you really want? We can stop now, with no hard feelings. Well, emotionally, anyway!"

"If I had wanted to stop, I wouldn't have let you start!" Grell growled, grabbing the Undertaker's prayer beads and yanking him back up into another kiss.

Several heated seconds later, the Undertaker's lips again left Grell's and trailed down his neck, resting at his chest before veering to his right nipple. Grell let out a pleasurable screech as he felt the Undertaker's teeth nibble at its tip. He reached his arm around the mortician's silver head and pressed him even closer. He ran his fingers up the Undertaker's back, tracing over his elder's scars, reveling in the velvety, raised lines in his pale skin. Grell scraped his nails down, and grasped the other reaper's narrow hips, scratching them lightly.

"Gah! That tickles!" he snickered with a squirm.

Grell moaned, "Good!"

He gasped as the Undertaker continued to bite and suck at his tender flesh, moving his head down to pick at the ruby-encrusted ring that pierced Grell's navel. He flicked at it with his tongue while his hands were busied with the buttons of Grell's fly. The red-haired shinigami's eyes widened. Was he really going to?

Grell's silent question was answered when he felt the chilly basement air against the exposed skin of his member. He raised up a bit in the chair when the Undertaker tugged at his trousers, allowing him to pull the restricting cloth free. The older shinigami snaked up his body and once again removed the red glasses, pulling his hair out from their chain.

"You seem a little nervous, Grell. I know that you are a brilliant actress, but you can't tell me that you've never done this before," the Undertaker said, nipping at Grell's chin.

Grell sighed, "It's . . . complicated. Let's just say that I'm no virgin by any stretch of the imagination, yet not quite the vile temptress I pretend to be and leave it at that."

The Undertaker chuckled, drawing invisible swirls on Grell's quivering belly, stopping just short of the straining organ that ached for attention.

"Alright. I just wanted to make sure that I wasn't taking advantage of you. That laudanum is awfully strong. I mixed it myself," he laughed.

Narrowing his eyes, Grell spat, "Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?"

"HAHAHAHA! But of course! How else do you think I learned to use my tongue so well?"

Before Grell could think of a witty retort, the Undertaker wrapped his long, thin fingers around his length, pushed its foreskin back, and took the tip into his mouth. He sucked at it greedily, while tightening his grip and moving down to its base, and repeating. When Grell cried out, the Undertaker took more of his member into his mouth, running his tongue along its shaft lightly. He slowly brought his head down, until the entire organ was enveloped. Grell wound his fingers tightly into the other shinigami's hair, instinctively guiding him up and down in a steady rhythm, not caring in the slightest when the incredibly unladylike moans escaped his throat. The hot, wet recess of the mortician's mouth awakened his most depraved, animal instincts, and after the aggravation and tension of the whole ordeal aboard the Campania, Grell welcomed every bit of it. Every now and then the Undertaker would release him, and mouth the globes under his shaft, teasing them with his feathery kisses.

Grell's breathing became heavier and more ragged as he felt his climax building. As if sensing its approach, the Undertaker suddenly jerked away, and leapt to his feet.

"Oh, no you don't, my dear," he drawled, in between his own gasps for air.

Grell fidgeted in frustration and excitement as he watched the Undertaker tiptoe back across the ornate rug to the oversized coffin pushed against the room's back wall.

He shoved the lid off with his bare foot, then returned to Grell. He grabbed the redhead's hands, pulling him up and embracing him with ferocity. He brushed the fiery tresses away from his neck and clamped down with his teeth, causing Grell to shriek in unadulterated pleasure. Grell reached a free hand down to the other reaper's waist, and tore at the buckles of his black trousers. He pushed them to the floor, and the Undertaker kicked his legs free. The mortician's own arousal was fully ripe, and his normally mirthful giggle was tinged with unquenched lust when Grell brushed his fingertips over it. He guided Grell to the coffin, staying uncharacteristically silent as the deceptively feminine shinigami stepped inside, which to his delight was lined in the same deep, plush red velvet he had touched in the previous room.

Grell sank to his knees, and then bent down to the suspiciously large pillow. He rested his head on it, all the while keeping his posterior up and ready. He turned his face toward the Undertaker, who waited outside the coffin, still smiling and watching.

He pushed the errant silver bangs out of his eyes, sighing, "And you told me that you weren't a vile temptress!"

Grell replied with an equally wide grin, "And you told me that I was a brilliant actress!"

The Undertaker raised an eyebrow bemusedly and crawled into the casket behind Grell, planting a kiss on the small of his back. Grell closed his eyes, hugged the pillow tighter, and buried his face in its fluffy contours. He sucked in a gasp when he felt the Undertaker's serpentine tongue on his spine, and dug his nails further into the pillow when the wetness traveled beyond his back and into the crease of his backside.

He had half-expected a witty remark beforehand, but Grell was happily surprised when the mortician kept his vocal chords silent and licked at his entrance. He happily squirmed back into the delightful friction as if he were a cat in heat, squealing as the mortician stretched his tongue upward, thrusting it in and out, preparing Grell's muscles for the onslaught to come.

The Undertaker lifted up, grabbed Grell's narrow hips, then breathed, "Ready?"

"Yes!" Grell cried, his impatience willing him to grab his own organ.

With another giggle, the older shinigami replied, "Thank the gods!"

Grell's breath hitched when he felt the head of the Undertaker's member pressing against his opening, and he hissed like a snake when it sought further access. The mortician leaned over, lightly scraping his claw-like black nails over Grell's back.

"Relax, my dear. The last thing I want to do is cause you any further pain, but this may be a tiny bit uncomfortable at first," he whispered breathlessly.

As if to punctuate his declaration, the Undertaker tightened his grip on Grell's hips and pushed forward, not stopping until he was buried inside to the hilt. The red-haired reaper screamed with a mixture of pleasure and pain, until his elder found his mark. The bundle of nerves buried inside Grell's body made him shiver and squeal like some wild creature when it was touched, especially when the mortician hesitated for a moment, allowing Grell a minute to adjust to his invasion. When Grell had settled down enough for his liking, the Undertaker pulled out slowly, and drove in again, tapping the feminine shinigami's most sensitive spot more forcefully with his length and knotting his glorious red locks in the digits of his left hand. Grell bit his lower lip hard; the coppery taste of his own blood only added madness to his frenzy.

Unable to resist temptation any longer, Grell tightened the grip he held on his organ and began moving slowly up and down, attempting to time his movements with those of the Undertaker. Just as he had found the correct rhythm, he felt a hand smacking his playfully.

"Allow me," the mortician whispered, before wrapping his slender digits around Grell's aching member.

Grell shuddered and replied, "Why thank you, sir."

The Undertaker's grasp was very firm, but not so tight as to be painful. Grell instinctively arched into the warm hand clutching him, and was pleased to notice that the rest of the Undertaker's body moved along with him. The two of them rocked together; the Undertaker's movements from behind pushing Grell into his hand, back and forth steadily. Grell's senses were in an uproar, and it wasn't long before his cries became more pronounced and closer together.

"You are entirely too good at this," he managed to moan before ecstatically screeching again.

At that cue, the Undertaker laughed. This particular giggle was deep, breathless, and the most erotic sound Grell had ever heard. He had little time to muse, as the Undertaker increased the speed of both his hand and hips, moving faster and faster until Grell had finally reached his limit.

He blissfully screamed at his release hit him, spilling his seed over the Undertaker's fingers. The mortician let loose of him, and placed the still dripping hand back on Grell's hip. Within a few more thrusts, the Undertaker himself cried out in rapture. Grell's knees quivered when he felt him climax inside. Joyful tears streamed down his face while the mortician slowly pulled out of his body, then collapsed his back beside him.

Grell quickly lay down, resting his head on the Undertaker's pale, scarred chest. The exertion had left them both sweating and gasping for air, but Grell couldn't bear to stop touching his strange, beautiful elder. The Undertaker sighed and chuckled, stroking Grell's tangled hair.

"Now, wasn't that better than fighting?" he asked.

It was Grell's turn to giggle now.

"You are going to get me into a great deal of trouble, you know."

"Hee hee. Why don't we sleep on it? The trouble can catch us tomorrow."

Grell smiled at the word "us," then drifted into oblivion.

Xxx

Finally! So sorry for the shortness of this chapter, and the delay in posting. I started working the graveyard shift (hee hee hee hee) a little over a week ago, pretty much full time. Hopefully once I am completely adjusted, I can write more often!

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the lemon. The story is not over, I assure you. XD


	4. The Rabbit, Ensconced

When Grell's eyes slowly opened, he was a bit disoriented. Where the hell was he, again? His elbow bumped the side of the coffin he was reclining in, and the previous night came flooding back. He sat up, noting with a frown that he was alone. From the coldness of the velvet under his hand, it was evident that he had been so for quite some time. His stomach turned to ice while his mind scattered in a thousand directions. Had the Undertaker gone back on his promise and escaped? He looked about frantically, and with his weak vision saw the outline of his clothing neatly piled on the overstuffed chair. Grell scrambled out of the coffin more slowly than he had wanted, but his body ached from the previous evening's activities. Thankfully, his glasses lay on top of his clothes. He let out a cry of frustration when, after settling them in front of his eyes, he saw that the small table containing the Undertaker's shrine to Mary Shelley was now bare. Grell cursed his damnable gullibility. How could he have been so stupid as to let a silver tongue and a gorgeous pair of eyes rope him into a false sense of security? He continued uttering very unladylike phrases as he pulled his trousers over his legs.

He was nearly blinded by tears of rage as he kicked the door to the Undertaker's sanctuary open. The nerve of that cruel, mad creature! The worst part of the whole debacle was the memory of how glorious the evening had ended. It had been the most gratifying sexual experience Grell had ever known, and for it to have all been a ruse was too much to bear. As soon as he was able to get away from this wretched place, he thought to himself, he would return to his own realm and bring down the entire force of the Shinigami Dispatch Society on the Undertaker's accursed head! He stomped angrily up the rickety staircase, determined to destroy the door and the rest of the shop with his death scythe.

Just before the weapon could materialize, the door swung open. Grell's foul mood abruptly evaporated when he was met by a blast of warm air, the scent of something delightful baking in an oven, and a smiling Undertaker.

"Ah, so you've rejoined the living at last, my dear! I was beginning to worry!" he said, opening his arms.

Grell hesitated, chewed for a moment on his lower lip, then nearly bowled the Undertaker over by fiercely accepting the offer of an embrace. He rested his head in the crook of the mortician's scarred neck, as he was enveloped by the familiar, billowing black robe. When he felt a gentle hand caressing his back, Grell was finally able to exhale in both annoyance and relief.

He whispered, "You're still here."

"Where else would I be? We did have a deal, as you recall. I suppose we didn't exactly shake hands on it, but the contract was definitely sealed by the end of the night," the Undertaker replied happily, raking his long fingernails through Grell's rumpled tresses.

"I know, but you had cleared off Mary's table. I thought you might have changed your mind."

The Undertaker chuckled, then sighed, "Poor Grell. To be so charming, yet such a pessimist! You were sleeping so peacefully that I didn't want to wake you. And as for Mary, well, we can talk about that in a bit. Right now, come and have tea. I just pulled some scones from the oven, too!"

He released Grell with a quick kiss, then sauntered off towards the small kitchen near the back of the shop. Grell followed, his anger all but forgotten and replaced with giddiness. He stopped at a washbasin to splash some water on his face. He cringed when he caught his reflection in the dusty mirror above it. His crimson hair looked a fright, and his makeup had worn away in his sleep. Having left all of his primping tools in his quarters at the Library, he knew that it couldn't be helped. Grell then remembered that there was a ribbon in his coat pocket. Hoping to at least tie the mess of hair back until he could give it the attention it deserved, he glanced around the shop. His beloved red jacket was nowhere to be found.

Grell peeked into the kitchen, ready to ask the Undertaker about its whereabouts, when his question was answered for him. Hanging on a wire above a cast iron stove was his coat, now free of the blood and other horrors that had drenched it the night before.

"You washed it for me?" Grell asked with astonishment.

The Undertaker lifted a tea kettle from a burner and replied, "Yes. I felt guilty about all the muck clinging to it. It should be dry soon. This old thing belches heat like a dragon! I hope you don't mind."

"Oh, not at all! Thank you. I'm just m not accustomed to anyone being so kind to me," Grell said sweetly.

The mortician, ever smiling, stated, "Now that is what I call a serious crime, my dear."

Grell could feel the blush creeping over his cheeks. Unable to contain his delight, he threw his arms around the Undertaker's neck and playfully licked the scar just under his Adam's apple, mindful of the hot kettle. The silver-haired shinigami squirmed and giggled, reaching down with his free limb and wrapping it around Grell's waist. His hand crept further, making Grell squeal with delight when it made contact with his backside.

"Hee hee. . .you are making me forget myself, Grell. Not that I am complaining, mind you. Here. Take these scones, and I'll bring the tea. We can go out front and chat about things that need to be taken care of."

Grell reluctantly backed away from the Undertaker, taking the silver platter of wonderfully aromatic scones. He walked back to the main area of the shop, his stomach both growling with hunger and unease at the conversation that was ahead. He took a bite of one of the scones as he sat on the lid of a closed coffin, and marveled at its delectability. It was loaded with currants, raisins, and walnuts. Grell finished it and grabbed another before the Undertaker sat down beside him.

"My goodness. You launder clothing, you're an excellent baker, and you make tea! You'd make a fair butler," Grell teased, taking a beaker of steaming dark Darjeeling .

The Undertaker laughed, "Oh, you think so? Perhaps, but the idea of being driven to task by spoiled nobles doesn't sit well with me. I'm not one to take orders very well, as you can probably imagine. That is one of the main reasons I retired from the Dispatch Society. The higher-ups are too fond of barking demands for my disposition."

"Oh, you are preaching to the choir, love. Even when I played the bumbling butler for Madam Red, it was all an act. Although, I must admit, I can't brew a pot of tea to save my life."

The Undertaker smiled and replied, "That's because you were meant for greater things, my dear. I've been thinking about you all day, you know. Wondering how on earth that I could have overlooked someone like you, when you have been under my nose for a century. You're special, Grell. I only wish I would have noticed before I conducted my, er, experiment, if you will."

Grell's hands trembled as he took a sip of his tea, and placed it beside him. He was utterly speechless. No one had ever spoken to him in such a manner. He slowly scooted closer to the older shinigami, attempting to ignore the nagging in his mind. Was the Undertaker's flattery born of honesty, or was he merely trying to wrest his way out of his dilemma? Grell reached up and brushed the mortician's bangs away from his eyes.

To quiet the annoying inner voice, he said, "Really? Then . . . ugh, by the Gods, I could kill you now for those eyelashes! Ahem, as I was saying, if you truly feel that way, then answer me one question. Why did you bring me here? Why me, and not one of the others?"

The Undertaker cocked his head until his cheek rested in Grell's palm. He turned his face slightly, and planted a kiss on the tender flesh. Grell shivered delightfully, mustering every bit of restraint to keep from tearing the black robes from the brute's body and impaling himself on it.

"I suppose that is fair," the Undertaker replied dreamily, "To tell you the absolute truth, I like to play the hand I am dealt. Once my original plans had become so muddled by interference, I knew I would have to get off the ship sooner than I'd liked. There were too many raging tempers and too much chaos for rational discussion at that point, so I needed to take one of you with me. Of the four of you, the Earl included, I figured that you, and you alone, would be the one who might listen to reason. Your colleague is too young, and though that lawnmower adds a nice bit of flair, I would bet that he's still one to fear straying so far from the rules of the Dispatch Society. With the Earl and his butler, there was no contest. The Earl, bless his little black heart, might be willing to listen, if it weren't for the false confidence and sense of superiority the demon gives him. In turn, the butler is tied to the orders given to him by his master, and would be relentless in carrying them out, no matter if they went against his better judgment. And that left you, my dear. You were obviously not one who sets himself above skirting those antiquated rules, you are not a demon, and you are not collared by the Queen. You were perfect. Once I had you alone, I noticed just how rare and important a treasure you are. I promise I had no idea that things would progress so far as they did. But, as I said, I like to play the hand I am dealt."

By this time, Grell had placed the plate of scones, as well as his beaker of tea, on the floor, far away from his feet. His fingers had wound themselves with those of the Undertaker, clutching each other tightly as if they were knitted together from the start. The silver head of the mortician was now laid upon his shoulder, their tresses combining to resemble a bloody swath of snow.

"So, does that make me your red Queen?" Grell whispered.

"Yes, and so much more. I only wish I'd gotten to know you sooner, so that I could bring you over to my side," the Undertaker answered, a hand snaking itself around Grell's waist and resting on his left thigh.

With no hesitation, Grell blurted, "And what makes you think that you don't have me now?"

The Undertaker paused, then giggled, "Oh?"

Grell shook his head to clear it before replying, "Yes. Before you have to ask me, I vow this. I will not be the one to turn you over to the Dispatch Society. I may find your 'hobby' repulsive, horrifying, and downright immoral, but who am I to judge you? If William asks me anything, I'll play dumb. He thinks I'm a moron, anyway."

There. He said it. Grell recalled the horrible, painful humiliation he had endured as punishment when William had dragged him home from his Jack the Ripper adventure. He knew that the Undertaker's sentence would be much, much worse; and Grell felt there would be no glory in bringing him in. The Undertaker had only done something he might even have done himself, had he the brains for such scientific endeavors. Besides, it wasn't as if he was a stranger to bending, nay obliterating whatever rules got in the way of his satisfaction. There was no joy in being a hypocrite, was there?

The Undertaker sighed deeply, then exhaled in a fit of hysterical giggles into Grell's shoulder.

"I was so hoping you would say that. It makes everything much less complicated. However, this brings me to our next point of order. You were wondering why I cleared off the table downstairs. Well, after I woke up earlier, I thought of my options. I knew that regardless of your decision, I would be away from my shop for some time. So, I did a bit of preemptive packing. Being a sentimental old fool, I like to keep my treasures near to me. That's all."

Grell gasped, then wound himself from the Undertaker's clutches. He stood up, and began twirling a lock of hair nervously.

The Undertaker asked with concern, "What's wrong, love? You haven't changed your mind, have you?"

"You're leaving?" Grell choked.

The expression on the silver-haired reaper's scarred face quickly went from one of surprised confusion to bemused curiosity. He brought one long, booted leg up and rested his chin on his knee before continuing.

"If I said yes, would that upset you?"

Blinking back tears, Grell replied, "It would. "

"Then you should allow me to continue. It is true, I do need to make myself scarce for awhile; at least long enough to throw the Earl and his hellhound from my trail. I haven't quite decided where I'm going, but I do have a few places in mind. Would you like to come with me?"

Grell wiped an errant droplet from his cheek, allowing the Undertaker's words to sink in. Had he heard him correctly?

"Are you serious? You are, aren't you?"

The Undertaker nodded, saying, "I wouldn't bother asking if I weren't. In times past, when circumstances have driven me underground or on the run, I skulked away like the proverbial thief in the night. Now that you've happened across my path, my strategy has changed. I realize this is all very sudden, and that you would be giving up a lot. There isn't much in the way of hospitality or luxury that I can offer you, but, my companionship is yours, if you would have me."

Grell lowered his eyelids, the last of the rogue teardrops battering against them. That pesky inner voice threatened again, screaming at him that no matter how sugary the Undertaker's words and touches could be, the man was more than a predator; he was a stone-cold killer. And so much like me, Grell mused. Had he sounded so different when he first propositioned Madam Red?

Refusing to delay further, Grell grinned widely, tossed a lock of hair over his shoulder, and slid into the Undertaker's lap. He drew closer, until the tips of their noses barely brushed each other.

"Oh, I'll have you," Grell growled hungrily, before crushing his mouth against the Undertaker's.

The mortician laughed softly into Grell's lips, digging his spindly fingers through the tangled red tresses. Grell, in turn, began working at the buttons of the Undertaker's coat, wishing desperately to reach the deliciously pale flesh buried beneath. He leaned back for a moment to catch his breath, only to lose it again when the older shinigami clamped his teeth against his neck, biting and sucking as if he could draw sustenance from him like a vampire. Grell twitched as he felt his member stirring, and could not help but notice that the Undertaker's lap had grown decidedly less comfortable since he had first sat down. Grell's hand moved between them, gripping the Undertaker's arousal through the leather that kept it at bay.

'BAM BAM BAM!' blasted a rather heavy knock on the front door.

If the Undertaker hadn't held such a firm grip on Grell's waist when the jarring sound came, the red reaper would have jumped through the roof. They both eyed the door with alarm.

After the third round of knocks, the Undertaker sighed, "Grell, dear, if you could peek out the window and see just who on earth would be bothering me at this hour, I would appreciate it."

"Oh, alright," Grell replied, reluctantly climbing from his glorious perch and tiptoeing to the window.

He moved the purple brocade drapes aside just far enough to see who dared to interrupt his revelry. Upon recognizing the very upright, unbending form standing haughtily before the door, he groaned.

"No! For the love of . . .not him!" Grell whined.

The Undertaker quipped, "It had better not be that sodding butler. I'm in the mood for better things than a fight right now."

"Worse," Grell answered.

The mortician snorted sarcastically, "Lovely. How much worse?"

"It's William."


	5. The Rabbit, Encumbered

"Oh, would you hush! This isn't funny, you loon!" Grell cried in a loud whisper.

The Undertaker was doubled over, laughing uncontrollably as gleeful tears ran down his pale face. Grell stomped his foot in frustration, which caused the hysterics to intensify.

"What are we supposed to do now? " the redhead continued, wringing his hands and watching the door in abject horror.

The Undertaker caught a breath and replied, "Well, you could let him in."

Grell gasped, "Let him in? You really are off your nut, aren't you? Do you have any idea what he could do to me? Or to you?"

"You are so cute when you're in a tizzy! I'm not afraid of one little tin soldier, Grell, no matter how much he puffs himself up. But, if it will make you feel better, I'll go and hide before you open the door. He obviously knows that you're here, so you may as well bite the bullet." the Undertaker said.

"Fine! Just disappear for a minute until I can get rid of him!"

The Undertaker quickly rose to his feet and ducked into a coffin that was leaned vertically next to his basement door. Grell nervously drew a deep breath, then, as calmly as he could, freed the latches from the inside of the front door. He knew he would have to put on quite a performance.

"Willll! What a pleasant surprise! You weren't coming to rescue me again, were you?" Grell cooed, fluttering his eyelashes and reaching up to smooth William's hair.

Will slapped Grell's hand away and stepped forward before pushing his glasses up to their appointed position. His frown stayed in place as he glanced around the shop, then back to Grell. His death scythe remained dutifully at his side as he straightened his posture.

"Sutcliff. Well, I see that you are in one piece. Knox blathered that you had been snatched away by some rogue shinigami before the Campania broke apart. He also said that you were injured, but you appear to be healthy to me. Slacking off, as usual. I, of course, had to finish your job for you. "

Attempting to stall William further, Grell asked, "Er, how is Ronald? Did he say anything else?"

Will sighed, "Only that the two of you had also been fighting with the Earl of Phantomhive's wretched hellhound on top of the abominations you'd gone to investigate. He babbled hysterically the entire time we were collecting those souls, and when we finally returned to the realm, he collapsed. He is in the infirmary now, no thanks to you. The shock of such an ordeal was a little too much for him. He'll be alright, with a few days of rest."

"Oh, the poor dear! I've been so worried about him! Those monsters were enough to rattle veterans like you and me, much less a kid like Ronald. Well, thank you for being there for him when I was occupied," Grell simpered, trying his best to keep Will's attention away from the shop.

It did little good. Will closed his eyes, muttered something under his breath, and glanced around the sparsely lit shop. Grell had no idea what time of day it was, but the sun had set at least. He was relieved to hear that Ronald was safe, and had not yet spilled the entire tale of what went on aboard the Campania. The Undertaker was a silent as a corpse; making no sign that he was anywhere near the dingy, cobweb-covered storefront. Grell watched William closely, all the while barely bottling the panic that threatened to boil over at any moment.

"Where is he?" William suddenly asked, glaring at Grell with annoyance.

Grell twirled one of his own locks of hair around his finger, refusing to meet William's gaze.

"Who? Oh, are you still wondering about the so-called 'rogue shinigami?' You needn't worry yourself over him. That misunderstanding has been resolved."

William calmly replied, "I'm afraid that you are not qualified to make such a hefty decision, Sutcliff. As it is, I need to bring the two of you with me to headquarters for questioning. There is still the matter of violent, reanimated, and soulless corpses to attend to. Though Knox was hysterical, his own words and the cries of the humans that remained living were quite damning. Have I made myself clear?"

Grell backed further from William, quivering with anxiety and frustration. For one brief moment, only a few minutes before, he had been shown freedom. Freedom from this dreary existence of routine humiliation, coercion, and utter boredom he'd resigned himself to until setting foot on that accursed ship. His itchy trigger finger had no such boundaries, and instinctively brought his dormant chainsaw to life. Grell held the weapon to his chest defiantly, and he raised the blade defensively in front of his face.

"Things aren't quite like you've been lead to believe, Will. Please, just trust me, for once," Grell pleaded.

William pressed the button to extend his own death scythe, pointing it directly at Grell's whirling blade. He gasped when his clippers met an obstruction.

Grell flinched at first, but then bit his tongue and marveled at the massive silver blade that sliced down within an inch of his face. It was beautiful, sharp, and definitely much older than Grell's own scythe. Before he could turn around, Grell felt an arm circle his waist protectively. He swallowed nervously.

"That is a very impressive death scythe, Mr. Spears. You should be proud of it. However, as you can clearly see, mine's bigger," the Undertaker teased, pulling Grell closer to his body while extending his arm outward.

Grell's intrigue grew while watching the reaction of his superior officer. He had expected a lively argument from Will at the very least, before being dragged away in chains beside his lover.

However, Will surprised him. The brunette reaper's eyes grew wide with uncharacteristic awe before he dropped one knee to the ground. He lifted his fair face to the Undertaker.

"Sir! I . . . I had no idea Knox was talking about you! There has obviously been a great miscommunication surrounding this!" William blubbered, his eyes fluttering between the point of the Undertaker's scythe and the gleam of his peridot colored eyes.

The Undertaker chuckled, withdrew his scythe, and rested his chin on the top of Grell's head.

"I should say so! Go easy on poor Grell, if you would. If not for me, he wouldn't even be in this predicament. There was just so much confusion on that ship! Between those batty humans and their resurrection machine, the murderous creatures that it awakened, and the Earl of Phantomhive and his bloody butler, I could barely keep my head on straight! I grabbed Grell in a fit of panic, you see. An upstanding director like yourself should be aware of my dealings with demons. The Earl seemed to be under the impression that I had something to do with this! After he sicced his pet on me, all I wanted was to get out of there as soon as possible. Grell just happened to be close by. I couldn't bear to see one of my shinigami brethren go down with that hunk of metal! Had the other lad been within my reach, I would have grabbed him, as well. "

William remained passive as he listened to the yarn the Undertaker was spinning. Grell watched him, only remembering to breathe when the Undertaker patted his belly reassuringly. He had never seen William in such a state—the man's gaze was fixed on the Undertaker, and the look in his eyes was one of abject veneration.

William, perhaps noticing how unusual his behavior may have seemed, quickly turned his piercing glare to Grell's eyes before bellowing, "Honestly, Sutcliff. I know you paid little to no attention in our History classes, but even you should recognize whose presence you are in. You should be on your knees before him!"

Before Grell could muster a response, the Undertaker replied, "No worries, Mr. Spears. Grell spent more than enough time on his knees last night. Didn't you, love?"

Grell giggled anxiously at the remark, noting the twitch in William's eye. Knowing that his face must have been as red as his hair, he absentmindedly reached up to cover the spot on his neck that still throbbed. If he could have ground his heel into the Undertaker's boot without looking even more suspicious, he would have. The man obviously had no tact! Of course, his roaming hands and other means of forward body language proved that he was not attempting to disguise what had happened between them, so what was a bit of naughty innuendo?

William stood up, brushed the dust from his legs and once again adjusted his glasses. He straightened his backbone and cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Well, regardless of what exactly happened last night, I still must insist on bringing the both of you back with me. This is for your own protection, Sir, I assure you. That wretched demon may still be after you, and there is no telling what devices he may employ to turn you over to the humans. While I know that you are most assuredly capable of handling yourself, it would be much safer for you under the veil of our Realm. We can sort out the other nonsense after this excitement has died down."

Grell kept his mouth shut, unsure of which direction to take in this matter. Though he was more acquainted with Will on a personal level, there seemed to be some sort of unspoken shield of honor between him and the Undertaker that Grell was not privileged to know about. Grell knew that, under any normal circumstance, he would seize the Undertaker, and take him to some far, forgotten place that the Shinigami Dispatch Association would never find them. This time, however, he felt utterly helpless.

After a few minutes of hesitation, the Undertaker answered, "That is a brilliant plan, Mr. Spears. I hadn't thought myself so forward as to ask for help, but if you are offering it freely, then yes, I will accept the offer of protection from the Realm. "

Grell stiffened at the reply, even as the Undertaker reached below his navel and squeezed provocatively. Ignoring Will's accusatory glare, Grell spun around to meet the Undertaker's eyes.

The mortician offered a half-hearted smirk before leaning into Grell's ear and whispering, "Always play the hand that you are dealt, my dear. We'll get out of this, yet."

Grell took a deep breath and nodded. He stepped away from the two of them, and walked slowly into the kitchen to retrieve his coat. It was still a little damp, but not so much that it couldn't be worn. He remembered the ribbon in his pocket, and tied his hair back. Upon seeing his reflection in a silver urn, he immediately untied it. The mark on his neck was worse than he'd thought, reaching almost to his ear! He adjusted the scarlet tresses to cover the blotch as much as possible. When he felt decent enough to rejoin the others, he noted the large, hideous old carpetbag that the Undertaker was holding. He was also wearing his beloved black top hat, and of course, grinned from ear to ear.

"Just let me make sure everything is locked up tight, and then we can be on our way," the elder shinigami said without a hint of apprehension.

"His acting is almost as good as mine," Grell thought to himself.

The Undertaker bolted the many locks on the shop's door, before passing his hand over it and muttering a strange incantation. The door itself glowed a bright green hue, as did every obvious window, then settled to normalcy.

William asked, "Are we ready, then?"

The Undertaker offered a free arm towards Grell, that the red haired reaper gladly latched on to. William made no remark on this action. Whether this was on purpose or not, Grell could not say. He could only watch as his senior officer opened a portal in the middle of the room.

Will gestured to the glowing threshold and politely offered, "After you, Sir."

The Undertaker, with Grell in tow, stepped through the light and giggled. William was right behind them.

"Has it been that long for you?" Will asked.

The Undertaker replied, "Too long, Mr. Spears. Far too long."

Grell tightened his grip on the Undertaker's arm as the ascended the steps to the library. He hoped that his stony expression was holding, as he had no idea what to expect from here on in. Upon passing the massive oak doors, the Undertaker groaned.

"Is that thing still here?" he asked, trying and failing to sound more annoyed than amused.

Grell raised his eyes and looked the object of the Undertaker's scorn. It was a statue that he'd passed countless times before, of a supposedly legendary shinigami, stern in his trench coat and flowing hair. It was only that moment in which Grell noticed the distinctive design of the statue's death scythe. It was massive, sporting a human rib cage and a thorny-crowned skull at its hilt. Just like the Undertaker's.

The red-haired shinigami squealed like a schoolgirl and playfully kissed the Undertaker on his ashen cheek. William rolled his eyes, and continued walking. When they reached the top of the stairs to the first mezzanine, he stopped.

"I can find you somewhere to sleep, if you wish, Sir," William offered, looking directly at the Undertaker and ignoring Grell, "there are a few empty apartments left in the library."

The Undertaker pretended to think for a moment, then answered, "Don't trouble yourself in the slightest, Mr. Spears. If it's all the same, I'd like to stay with Grell. This entire ordeal has left me frazzled, and a familiar face would put me at ease. He could be my personal bodyguard!"

Grell looked at Will hopefully, twirling a lock of hair.

Will sighed, "If that is your wish, so be it. Sutcliff, I will hold you personally responsible for his safety. Aside from your regular duties, of course."

"What do you mean?" Grell asked suspiciously.

"I mean that you have work to do tonight."

Grell whined, "Wiiilll! Tonight? After all the trouble from that stupid ship? You must be joking!"

Without missing a beat, William replied, "Have you ever known me to joke, especially when it comes to work? On the contrary. We are short-handed as it is, and with Knox out of commission for the time being, I need you. You can sleep when you get back. Your book should contain your assignments for the evening. "

He turned his glance to the Undertaker and continued, "I bid you goodnight, Sir. Please do not hesitate to contact me, should you need anything at all."


	6. The Rabbit, Enmeshed

So very sorry it's taken me so long to get this chapter uploaded. Do forgive me. There shall be lemons aplenty in the next one, I assure you!

William started to walk away, then added, "Oh, and Sutcliff? I'll be needing a report about what happened aboard that ship. Try to have it on my desk by tomorrow night."

With that, he tucked his scythe under his arm and left Grell and the Undertaker standing at the top of the stairs. When he was out of earshot, Grell finally let out a huge breath. The Undertaker squeezed his hand, and emitted a sigh of his own.

"That was close," he giggled.

Grell only growled in frustrated disgust, and pulled the Undertaker further down the hallway in front of them. He wanted nothing more at that point than to be behind the locked door of his own quarters to get his thoughts about the entire mess in order.

Along the dimly lit passage, Grell muttered, "Will is such an ogre! I swear to you right now, that if I were bleeding from every orifice, he would still make me go to work!

"Don't judge him too harshly, my dear. He obviously thinks highly of your skills, or else he wouldn't bother you at all. If you must be angry with anyone, then lay it on me. I honestly admit than this ball of confusion is entirely my fault. As a matter of fact, you should all pat yourselves on the back! If I'd had any idea that the Shinigami Dispatch Association had become so competent in recent years, I would have taken more precautions!" the mortician snickered.

Grell stopped in front of the door to his rooms and replied, "Oh, you think so, do you? Then we must have been in a sorry state indeed when you stepped down. Will has been my boss for almost twenty years now and he's run me ragged ever since. But, if that was meant to be a compliment, I'll take it."

He patted the Undertaker's backside with one hand while he fished out a golden key with the other. The two shinigamis stepped through a heavy oaken door, and after being blasted by the scent of patchouli and roses, Grell locked it behind them. Before he could put the key back in his pocket, Grell was slammed against the door, with long black fingernails snaking through his hair. He gave up no resistance to the kiss assaulting his lips.

When he could finally gasp for air, Grell asked, "What do we do now?"

The Undertaker sighed, then released him. He dropped his bulky carpetbag to the floor beside a massive four-poster bed. Grell watched him as he eyed his surroundings. The room was a lot to take in. It was draped everywhere with various shades of red, from the heavy velvet curtains to the satiny bedcovers. Grell had collected a few gaudy lamps shaded in crimson lace, and the floor was covered with intricately designed rugs. Various bits of ephemera were scattered here and there, from half-burned candles to silver-framed tintypes of a certain demonic butler.

"Go ahead and say it," Grell remarked.

"Say what?"

"The same thing everyone says. That my room looks like it was decorated by French whores."

The Undertaker cocked his head and scratched his chin, gazing about the room.

He then chuckled, "Well, it does resemble a few brothels I visited out of curiosity during my Marie Antoinette assignment. I find it quite charming, actually. Grell, my dear, you are a princess among shinigamis, if I may say so. And, as for what we do now, well, I'm honestly out of answers. I suppose for the next few nights, we should stay here, and go on about our business, until other paths open themselves up to us. Go ahead and collect your souls for the evening. I'll stay here and try to figure out which direction our next path is pointing. I might even be nice and write that report for you. You'll have to type it up, of course. These talons aren't meant for machinery."

Grell nodded with a frown and pulled out his Book. He groaned when he read the first entry on his list. He had less than half an hour to find the leading old woman and send her into the next world. He shoved the book into his pocket and quickly embraced the mortician.

"I have to go now, damn it all. Make yourself at home while I'm gone. My list isn't too long, so I should be back before dawn," Grell said.

The Undertaker kissed his forehead, then replied, "I shall count the minutes. By the way, if you get a moment while you are out, do me a couple of small favors? Swing by my shop and make sure that no one is lurking about. They shouldn't be, of course, but one can never be too careful. Oh, and peek in at the Earl's London house, just to see what might be happening. It's early yet, but mortal technology is advancing so quickly. I do like to keep at least two steps ahead of them. "

Grell smiled slyly, remarking, "So you've got me running errands now, eh?"

"I'll make it up to you," the silver-haired shinigami whispered, reaching down to hook a finger into Grell's waistband.

After a final, fiery kiss, Grell reluctantly opened the door and prepared to step out. Before closing it behind him, he spun around.

"What am I supposed to call you? I realize by now that I should probably know your real name, but I'm afraid Will was spot on with his observation about my history lessons. Are you going to tell me?" he asked.

The Undertaker, never missing a beat, tossed his hat on the bed and brushed the silvery locks out of his brilliant eyes before replying, "That one's going to cost you, I'm afraid. For now, Undertaker will be fine."

"Very well, Undertaker. I'll be back as soon as I can," Grell concluded with a blown kiss.

Cold rain sheeted down upon Grell's head as he leapt from rooftop to grimy rooftop, muttering angrily to himself. Why did he have to be out here, soaked to the bone and freezing, while there was a gorgeous hunk of man flesh waiting in his bedroom? The victims on his list this night were so utterly routine that he worried he might faint from boredom. The assignment aboard the Campania had been a pain, but at least it was exciting! Tonight, Grell's dance card was filled with elderly ladies and an unlucky ex-soldier who had never been able to forget the Crimean War.

While waiting for the entries on his list to meet their fates, Grell hopped about, gathering intelligence and keeping watch over the Undertaker's shop. He watched the door front for more than an hour, and when nothing unusual happened, he leapt over to the London Phantomhive estate. At first it seemed fairly quiet, but after a few minutes he spotted a shadow of movement in an upper window. Grell sprang up into the branches of an adjacent elm tree and peered inside.

There was no handsome butler or foppish English urchin to be seen. Grell only saw the dark-skinned Indian boy screeching, and his tall valet offering to comfort him. The taller one wasn't hard on the eyes, but he abandoned everything to make his master feel more calm, in the presence of who knows what.

Grell wished that he could understand the language the younger fellow was blathering in, but it could not be helped. Grell sighed when the attractive butler, or whatever he was, caught his eye. Grell was gone with a flip of his crimson hair, and never heard any words that might have been directed towards him.

Half an hour later, when the last name was stamped in his book, Grell created his own portal, and once again found himself in the lobby of the shinigami library. The sun had just begun to peek through the clouds. Unfortunately, Grell was still soaked to the bone. He sheathed his chainsaw and trudged through the too far distance to his quarters.

Grell was grumbling to himself about the weather until he entered his chambers and eyed the lovely mortician stretched out on his bed. Undertaker lay on his belly, reading some unfamiliar, worm-eaten tome he must have brought with him from the shop. He looked up, and grinned from ear to ear. His silver bangs were being held back by one of Grell's sparkling hair combs, and his lovely eyes blinked when he saw Grell standing there.

"There you are, my lovely lady. I trust the evening treated you well," Undertaker offered, setting the book aside and rolling over.

Grell sucked in a breath. Undertaker was wearing nothing more than his black trousers. His top hat sat perched upon one of the bed's posters, and the boots sat beside him on the floor. His robes and undershirt were folded neatly and stacked atop an old oaken dresser. Grell, feeling the dreariness of his soggy and somewhat filthy state, resisted the urge to immediately pounce on him.

With feigned boredom, he replied, "It was dreadfully dull, of course. There wasn't a handsome shinigami or soul-hungry, undead monster in sight. I promise to tell you all about it. In the meantime, I hate to be rude, but I must have a bath and wash off this horrible, sooty dampness that seems to have followed me home. I shan't be too much longer."

"Oh, by all means. I hope you don't mind, but I have already made use of your facilities. I had quite forgotten the luxuries that are afforded to you working reapers. Hot-running water is a little hard to come by in the East End, I'm afraid."

Grell grabbed a few things from one of his wardrobes, blew a kiss to Undertaker, then hurried to the adjacent room that held his claw-footed tub. While the near to scalding water rushed in and steam fogged his glasses, he peeled the soppy clothes off and dropped them unceremoniously to the floor. Under any other circumstance, his skin would be screaming for at least an hour long soak, to dissolve the stress of the past couple of days. However, Grell was anxious to get finished as quickly as possible. He did have an honored guest to entertain, after all.

Twenty minutes later, he was wrapped in a lush scarlet dressing gown, which covered a silk nightdress of scandalous translucency. He squeezed his hair tightly, wrenching the last loose droplets from it before emerging from his bathroom. Grell winked at Undertaker, still sprawled on the bed, and sat before the vanity situated near its foot. Saying nothing, he picked up a hairbrush.

"Allow me," Undertaker quickly interjected, scooting to the end of the bed and taking his place behind Grell.

The red-haired shinigami grinned at his own reflection and passed the brush over his shoulder. He shivered as Undertaker administered the brush's porcine bristles first over his scalp, then down through the long tangles until he reached the ends.

"Well, you obviously know what you're doing," Grell purred, trying not to make kissy-faces at himself in the mirror as Undertaker combed.

After a welcomed giggle, Undertaker replied, "Between my own lengthy mess and that of my many guests over the years, I suppose you could say so. You are blessed with quite a full head of hair for such a young reaper, my dear. Please accept my compliments!"

Grell squealed and squirmed in rapture for but a moment, before he noticed that Undertaker had separated his hair into halves, and was obviously weaving it into braided pigtails. He then sat still, eyeing his stylist in the mirror with a curious eye. Under normal circumstances, he would have violently slapped anyone who had dared mess with his magnificent tresses.

Undertaker was a different beast altogether. By some instinctive trait, Grell knew that his hair was in good hands, and gladly fished out a couple of ribbons for him.

"So nothing interesting happened, then?" Undertaker asked, while raking through a particularly thick snarl.

Grell replied, "Ouch! That hurt, you brute! But, no, nothing really spectacular happened. I think the mortals were only getting bits and pieces of what happened with the Campania. Your shop was untouched, and the Phantomhive manor. . .well, all I could see and hear was that Indian boy screeching about something horrid, and that handsome valet with the weird mummy hand trying to reassure him. I have no idea what they were on about, as I don't speak Hindi or Punjabi or whatever language he was blathering in."

Undertaker fastened one fat plait with a scarlet ribbon before grabbing another shank of hair. He smiled, and spoke while braiding:

"Ah, that would be Prince Soma and his faithful guard Agni. I haven't dealt with either of them personally, but I have heard that the prince is very emotional, and that Agni is devoted to the prince's wishes as if he were a demon under a contract. Before you ask, I checked. Agni is a mere human, blessed with some sort of super power that even I am unsure of its limits. I wish I knew more, but the gods of the Hindus are vast, and I'm afraid that when I retired from service, the Dispatch Society arrogantly didn't consider any religion other than the established one as having any relevance at all. Anyway, I've also had wind of how much the Prince values the Earl of Phantomhive. If I would even go so far as to venture a guess. . .he's heard something. Well. That's more information than I expected to hear tonight! You are an absolute peach, my dear," Undertaker exclaimed, before planting a kiss on Grell's blushing cheek.

Grell sighed, "At least I was good for something tonight. All of my regular assignments were the same old drudgery. You know, I could complain for hours about those monstrosities you threw at us on that bloody ship, but at least it was a break from the monotony!"

Undertaker thoughtfully wrapped another ribbon around the end of Grell's waiting tresses, and tied them off into a bow. Grell eyed the cuteness of the operation, and allowed it all to sink into his stomach before standing up, turning around, and grabbing Undertaker's gorgeous, pale face. The Undertaker offered no resistance to the lips claiming his own. A free arm crept down, and Grell allowed the hand to reach lower, cup his right thigh, and bring his leg around Undertaker's hip.

The fingers of Grell's left hand loosened the ties to his dressing gown, and tossed it aside as he felt his body being devoured by the elder shinigami. The silk fabric of his nightgown clung uncomfortably close as the mortician's practiced hand slid down, then pulled it up so that his fingers could caress the sweet, willing flesh beneath. With little effort, he lifted Grell's legs up until they wrapped around his thin waist.

He threw Grell down onto the comfortable mattress of his bed, then eyed the territory underneath a film of silken, pink fabric that waited to be conquered.

Grell smiled demurely, chewing absentmindedly on a fat braid of red hair.

"Go ahead and start defiling, my love, but remember, you're in my territory now. We'll see what happens next."


	7. The Rabbit, Engulfed

Here you are, my lovelies. The past few months have been utterly horrid. Nothing bad really happened, but the summer months always leave me drained of energy, enthusiasm, creativity, and just about anything else in life that is positive. Now that Fall is once again upon us, I have my fingers crossed that I can be much more productive! This month is rather inspirational, what with all the beautiful skulls, skeletons, tombstones, and other delightfully creepy décor floating about.

Longer chapter next time. I promise. Now, on with the lemons!

"My, my, aren't we the bold one! I dare say, that almost sounds like a challenge," Undertaker drawled in a low, throaty voice.

Grell smiled wickedly as the mortician crept over his body. He sucked in his breath when he felt the obvious lump raking across his flat stomach, brushing over the expanse of his chest.

With a knee planted on each side of his shoulders, Undertaker grasped both of Grell's hands and pinned them above his head. He bent over and whispered into Grell's ear, "I hope that you are up to it."

Grell, fully acknowledging the stiffening bit of flesh resting on his chin, widened his mouth and licked at the bulge offered to him. He reached around, clutching at the rounded cheeks above him, and squeezed brutally.

"I know exactly what I'm doing, you bounder!"

Grell's right hand slithered up and released the buttons withholding Undertaker's length. He growled provocatively as the hardened skin spilled forth, and laid its bounty across his face. He kissed the looser bits that met his lips first, then greedily took the thickened shaft into his mouth.

The Undertaker gasped with pleasure, then eeked out, "Watch those teeth, my sweet thing."

Even with the member still in his possession, Grell chuckled. He released it, then mused, "Don't worry, love. As I said, I know exactly what I'm doing."

Undertaker adjusted his position, pinning Grell's wrists above his head with one hand and leaning over his face, so that he could enter the dangerous mouth with more ease. Grell relaxed his throat muscles, gagging only slightly as the hardness made its way farther in. He licked and sucked as Undertaker moved in and out, his breath quickening and pleasurable groans escaping his lips. Grell squirmed a bit, his own nether region becoming increasingly agitated at its neglect. He longed to at least reach down and give it a squeeze to tide him over, but Undertaker's grip was too strong.

The mortician emitted the same deep, lustful laugh he had given Grell the night before, and remarked, "What is it, my dear? Did you need something?"

He withdrew just for a moment. Grell drew a breath to speak, but was silenced by the member filling his mouth. Undertaker gave a few more quick thrusts, and then fell beside Grell on his back, chuckling wickedly.

"I suppose that was rather ungentlemanly of me, wasn't it?" he quipped, all the while slithering out of his trousers completely.

Grell, with mock annoyance, huffed, "Ungentlemanly? That was downright vicious, you monster!"

The red-haired shinigami shifted, covering Undertaker's body with his own. First, he crushed his lips to Undertaker's, snaking his tongue through to wrap around the other. Undertaker's arousal pressed lewdly against Grell's own, and the mortician clutched his backside and grinded against him. The Undertaker's long, black fingernails quickly hooked into Grell's feminine undergarments and scooted them down, before returning to the now naked flesh and caressing it reverently.

Grell brought himself out of the kiss, then moved his mouth down to the Undertaker's neatly scarred chest. It was then that he noticed something that he had overlooked in the previous night's rendezvous in darkness. Each of Undertaker's nipples sported silver rings, accented with tiny skull-shaped beads, not unlike those that adorned the chain of Grell's glasses. The younger reaper's menacing grin widened before clamping down on one pink bud and suckling, flipping the accoutrement with his tongue.

After awhile, with no warning, Grell released it, then quickly flipped his position, so that he could once again feast on the rigid organ he was growing increasingly fond of. He backed his own pelvis up towards Undertaker's chin. Reading Grell's mind, the mortician drew the hardness into his mouth, pushing up until its entire length was enveloped. In response, Grell moved his head down, and proceeded to coat the appendage with as much wetness as he could, in anticipation of his next move. Finishing with a long, drawn-out suck, Undertaker released Grell's length and licked back to his entrance. Grell shivered, then gasped when he felt a claw begin to press its way in. He took his mouth from Undertaker's arousal, but kept a hand gripped around it. He whimpered, gritting his teeth anxiously.

Undertaker patted his backside reassuringly with his free hand, and commented, "No fears, sweet Grell. I, too, know what I am doing."

The finger pushed in further, and true to his word, the long nail didn't scratch at Grell's inside skin. He moaned loudly when another finger was inserted, and could not help but push back against the digits as Undertaker spread them apart slightly, scissoring at the opening for accommodation.

"Alright, that is it! I can't bear this any longer!" Grell cried, escaping from the invading fingers. He spun himself around until he sat on Undertaker's lap. Grasping the funeral director's member, Grell guided it towards his ready entrance. In one quick downward thrust, he took it all into himself, crying with delight when his secret spot of pleasure was tapped.

He rode up and down on the rigid staff, and stared directly into the Undertaker's beautiful eyes. They were nearly glowing, and Grell could feel the returning gaze pierced him even more deeply than the physical penetration they both were engaged in. Undertaker's lips were curled upward, as always, but in a more subdued, concentrated manner. Without breaking eye contact, he reached down and grasped Grell's aching maleness and, with a grip so tight that it was almost painful, began working the flesh up and down in time with Grell's own motions.

The red-haired shinigami was mesmerized. Those yellow-green eyes bore into his like a drill, causing but a moment of apprehension, before a wave of serene clarity overcame him. Grell knew then that he would do anything for this man, even if he were not being completely ravished by him. He forgot his surroundings, and for a moment, even his own name. He knew only the Undertaker.

The combination of physical passion and mental bewitchment were too much for Grell to bear. He impaled himself with one last plunge, crying out in loud ecstasy as his seed erupted, coating Undertaker's fingers and abdomen. He paused for a moment, finally able to close his eyes and catch his breath.

Undertaker emitted that throaty, lustful chuckle that Grell remembered from their previous engagement. He shifted, while still inside of the quivering redhead, and rested his back against the dark headboard. Grabbing one of Grell's braids, he yanked him foreword, catching his gasping lips in a deep kiss, and proceeded to thrust up with alarming intensity. Grell wrapped his arms around the mortician's neck, holding on for dear life. Just when he felt his body could stand no more, Undertaker moaned into his mouth, his own release having caught up with him.

Grell, still shaking with pleasure, slid from his mount and collapsed beside him. He dared to look up at Undertaker, almost relieved that the silver mane, wet with perspiration, had come loose from the hair comb and fallen back over his eyes. His mind was swimming, and was having difficulty coming up for air.

"What did you do to me?" he uttered breathlessly.

Undertaker cocked his head, and with a wry grin replied, "I defiled you, as requested, m'dear."

Grell laughed softly and said, "Of course you did, love. And quite a desecration it was! But, what I mean is, your eyes. . ."

"Ah. That. It is one of the benefits of being a shinigami who is older than dirt. It is also why I was so successful at collecting souls for so long, and why I normally leave my eyes covered. When a mortal looks into them at just the right moment, they feel the need to willingly offer up to me what it is natural for a reaper to take. I should have been more careful, I suppose, but I never thought it would affect you. Are you alright?" he asked tenderly, squeezing Grell's limp hand.

"I don't think I've ever been better, actually. A girl could get used to this sort of attention."

Undertaker giggled heartily and rose to clean the remnants of Grell's issue from his belly. Grell watched him sleepily, drinking in the sight of the elder shinigami's lithe, naked figure. When he returned, he slid under the satin covers and yawned. Grell repeated the yawn, and placed his glasses on his nightstand. He lay his head on Undertaker's chest, and traced a scar with a red fingernail.

"When is the last time you slept in a real bed?" he wondered out loud.

"To tell you the truth, I honestly can't remember. So it has been quite awhile."

"Then you can stay here in mine for as long as we can get away with it," Grell answered, before slipping into sweet darkness.

Some hours later, Grell was roused by the sound of someone knocking at his door. He groaned, and delicately unwound himself from the still-snoring Undertaker's embrace. He put on his glasses, grabbed the discarded dressing gown, and covered his nakedness before tiptoeing over to see who was disturbing him.

Expecting to see William's cold visage on the other side, Grell was quite shocked when he saw a mop of blond hair and bright, worried eyes.

"Ronald! Er, how are you? Will said you weren't feeling well," Grell stammered.

Ronald Knox gave a sigh of relief, and said, "I'm fine, Senpai. Just needed to sleep it off. I was more worried about you! What happened after that loony bastard ran off with you? William didn't say much, only that you were home and alive."

Grell sighed, and twirled the end of one of his braids.

"It's a long story."

Ronald smiled sympathetically, and pulled Grell into a hug.

"That's fine. Just so you're safe. I do worry about you, ya silly git. That mission was a lot more than either of us had bargained for, and . . . Christ on a bloody crutch, why is that horrible man lying naked in your bed?"

Grell winced, realizing that Ronald had looked over his shoulder. He pulled away, and followed his colleague's horrified gaze. Undertaker, for all appearances, was sleeping peacefully, with one leg wrapped around the crimson bedcovers. Of course, that leg happened to be completely exposed, all the way to its pallid hip.

Quickly jumping into a defensive stature, Grell cried, "I told you it was a long story! Just please, whatever you do, keep your mouth shut about what happened aboard that ship! Give me a chance to explain, I beg you!"

Ronald, obviously flustered at both the distraught redhead before him and the sinister apostate he was protecting, threw up his hands and staggered into the hall. Grell fought back frightful tears, deviating between watching Ronald's back and keeping an eye on his prostrate lover. He held his breath when Ronald sighed and turned around.

"Alright, Senpai. I'm all ears."

Grell squealed delightfully, "Thank you so much, you dear, sweet boy! Just let me duck in and get dressed, first. I owe Will a report, anyway, so can you hang on a minute and walk over to the office with me? I'll positively sing for you along the way!"

Without waiting for Ronald's awkward response, Grell hopped back into his room and slammed the door. He breathlessly ran to his bed and leapt onto it, not surprised in the least when Undertaker rolled over and smiled up at him.

"You were awake the whole time, weren't you, you twit? Well?" Grell growled playfully.

"Well, what?" Undertaker snickered.

"Well, what the hell else am I supposed to do to keep your arse out of the fire? By any chance did you write that report last night?"

Undertaker nodded and said, "As a matter of fact, I did. It's on the nightstand. You may want to alter it a bit, to make it sound more like yourself, but I came up with something not too implausible that might keep dear William from questioning our story. Now, about the boy. . ."

"You leave him to me. For some reason I'll never know, he actually seems to respect me. Besides that, he's young and corruptible. I'll work my magic on him, don't worry!" Grell replied.

Undertaker leaned forward and whispered softly into Grell's ear, "Hmm. Just don't corrupt him too much, or I might get jealous, m'dear."

Grell squealed with delight, and answered, "No need to worry about that, love. I don't think that I'm his kind of woman. He's always chatting up the horrifyingly 'normal' girls in the office."

"Good. Though, in all my years, I've never met a shinigami who wasn't at least a little bent, if you know what I mean."

"Ha! Perhaps you're right. Will may be the exception, however. I've never seen him bat an eye towards anyone of either gender. Irritation is the only emotion I've seen him express since we were kids," Grell mused while hurriedly throwing on his work clothes.

Undertaker broke into a fit of giggles and cried, "He does seem to have a pole wedged up there pretty far, doesn't he?"

"Mmhmm. It's been there for as long as I've known him. I think he likes it."

Grell pulled his red coat sleeves over his arms and picked up the neatly written document lying on his nightstand. He then squatted down at the bedside, and placed a gloved hand on Undertaker's cheek. The glimmer of green peeking through his silver bangs caused Grell's heart to jump. He didn't want to leave, but there was nothing to be done about it. He managed a small smile.

Undertaker said, "Come and find me in the gardens when you can. There are still plans to be made, after all."

Suddenly apprehensive, Grell stammered, "You promise you'll be in the gardens? If you leave me here, I couldn't bear it. I simply couldn't!"

With a sigh, Undertaker sat up, and without saying a word, removed the long strand of black beads from around his neck. Placing them over Grell's head, he arranged them in the double loop as he wore them himself. He kissed the redhead on the cheek, and then on his trembling lips.

"I promise. I will trust you with those, as I've worn them for for years longer than I care to count. I hope that you can trust me, as well," the mortician breathed reassuringly.

Grell wiped at a tear that threatened to spill from his eye and nodded, "I do trust you."

"Good! Now, you'd best run along before young Mister Knox thinks I've murdered you."

Grell hurried from the room, knowing that if he delayed any longer that he might not be able to tear himself away from the Undertaker's side. He found Ronald pacing the hall, nervously running his fingers through his blond and black mop. The boy relaxed a bit when he noticed Grell, but still seemed agitated.

"Shall we?" Grell asked nonchalantly, clutching the report in one hand and twirling the precious beads with the other.


End file.
